You can find it in the tone of your very own voice.
And as much as we’d like to erase it,
make it disappear with our magic mummy wands,
one day our children will find out about ugly.
Or maybe it’s ugly that will find out about them.
My fingers are blue with the telling of it.
All that rolling eggs round till they come up like the sky.
And we said it was like the stone rolling,
opening up that cave-tomb
two millennia ago.
And we speak of the first Good Friday,
and how strange that we call it all good,
when there came then the ugliest ugly
that ever was
or ever will be.
From the kitchen window I watch them,
red-breasted robins against the flat, dry brown.
And I know it means winter was beaten,
and I smile at the green that will come.
A great kafuffle and we’re out there,
tramping the brown with our boots.
And I stop them once or twice just to point out
where a bulb or a bud has poked through.
And I’m breathing in the sweet smell of new life,
and I’m thanking Him there’s such a thing as grace.
Because today there was plenty of ugly
In my heart, in my voice, in my face.
You don’t have to look far to find ugly.
Ugly always finds some way in.
And how could I even bear it?
Go on pretending that everything’s great
If it wasn’t.
Really wasn’t.
If I couldn’t look them in the eye and tell them
That ugly won’t win.
No, ugly won’t win, precious children.
Because His grave didn’t hold death in.
And the last time we lock eyes
won’t really be the last.
Oh, my sweet ones,
He has conquered death and sin.
And he who was seated on the throne said, “Behold, I am making all things new.” Also he said, “Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true.”
1,500 women gathered in a chapel. Outside, snow flurries danced in the bitter wind. Inside, the warm glow of the chapel’s soaring wood ceiling. Chocolate covered pretzels, and coffee, and light. Smiling faces, and candle-lit carols, and friends. And the speaker had so much to say–so many good things to inspire and help us on. But there was one thing that struck me–sat like a burning weight in the deepest part of me. She spoke of the Armor of God, and of the Sword of the Spirit, which is the Word of God. (Ephesians 6:17). THIS is how we do battle with all that threatens to undo us. THIS is the weapon we must take into our hands when darkness starts to close in. The Sword of the Spirit–the Word, which is Light, and Love, and Truth. I took up the challenge this morning, and this is the passage to which I was drawn–
Yet I am always with you;
you hold me by my right hand.
You guide me with your counsel,
and afterward you will take me into glory.
Whom have I in heaven but you?
And earth has nothing I desire besides you.
My flesh and my heart may fail,
but God is the strength of my heart
and my portion forever.
This is the picture I’m holding with me as I go through the day–the picture of my Father, who is Ruler of the Universe, yet who has stooped to hold onto my hand.
HOPE
Avonlea xo
happylittlesigh.com
Finding beauty in the everyday ❤
I threw the phone on the sofa and shook my head. A good ten minutes or more I’d wasted, ogling over photos of other people’s living rooms, and fall outfits, and–for goodness’ sake!–what they had for dinner. That, instead of, well, cleaning my own living room, perhaps. Or cooking something for my family to eat (they do get hungry some–all–of the time).
And I’ve said it before how all of these images–perfectly filtered glimpses of another’s world–can leave me downright flat and dissatisfied with my own world–the life that was given to me.
This week, though, I was struck with a feeling very different. As I scrolled through my Instagram photos–those images I’ve carefully selected and filtered before sharing–I realized that yes, I may have purposefully chosen these particular photos to show the best of my world. But these most splendid photos are glimpses of my wonderfully blessed world! Those awful, funny messes that Littlebear makes for me to clean up. The peeks at Professor and his cello. The glimpses into my writing life. The pirate and viking adventures I watch my wee men get lost in. They are all gifts. And they are mine.
So this week as you pick up your phone and are tempted to start scrolling, go to your own page. Let yourself linger and smile over all that God’s given to you. Don’t focus on what you don’t have, but on what is yours.
You can hear it so many times that it excites you about as much as the side of a cereal box. Maybe less. Especially if you’ve grown up with it all—those carols and those words. Sunday school, church, Awana, VBS.
Again, and again you hear about the baby born. His miracles. The cross. Until you stop hearing at all. Or maybe you hear, but you’ve lost the wonder. The awe. The faith.
Maybe you’ve done better than I at keeping sight of “the real meaning of Christmas.”
Then again, maybe not.
Maybe, like me, you really wanted to show your children the real miracle that Christmas celebrates, but with all your Pinterest surfing, food list making, and out-of-town-company preparing, you forgot.
For me this holiday season, the truth has crept in gradually, like the slow approach of a faintly burning light in the dark.
This year has been so difficult, and I’ve felt stretched in so many ways…
Spent the first two months out of the country in Scotland for the birth of Little Bear (our fourth boy and last child; a lump to swallow by itself), and then had to transition to life back in the States. Battled fatigue as I’ve been woken by baby every night for the past twelve months. Struggled to balance my role as wife, mother to four rambunctious boys, writer, cook, organizer of too much stuff, chauffer, friend, and homeschooling mum. Took in a friend’s daughter for the summer. Opened our home to friends—a family of six—for seven weeks while they sought out a new home. Made do with chaos while we put on a small extension to our home. Helped more than one person move house. Pounded at Heaven’s doors for the souls of those yet lost.
And in one way I feel shattered by it all. Bedraggled. Weary both body and soul.
In another, the shadowy places we’ve trudged through in the past few years have only made the greatest gift—the one believers in Christ Jesus claim to celebrate at Christmas—shine like never before.
For his gift—the gift of eternal life through belief in the life, death, and resurrection of God’s only begotten Son, the Lord Jesus Christ, who is Himself God—is one that can neither be lost, stolen, damaged, outgrown, or in any way taken away. Such a gift!
This is the gift I will be sharing with my children and other family members on Christmas, and there is a very simple way you can do it, too, with items you most likely already have in your house.
Wrap up five items in Christmas paper – something broken (a toy?), something outgrown (baby clothes?), an empty wallet or purse, and a figurine of baby Jesus (or picture of the cross), and a heart (a Christmas ornament?).
Gather your family round and let them open the parcels one by one, explaining the meaning of each as you go along, using the suggestions below . . .
For the broken item – Is this toy new or old? Have you ever had anything break? Things don’t last forever, do they? They can stop working or break.
For the outgrown item – Would this fit anyone in the room? Clothes don’t last forever, do they? We can outgrow our clothes, or they can get holes in them and wear out.
For the wallet – Look inside the pockets. What has happened to the money? Has it been stolen? Spent? Lost? Money doesn’t last forever, does it? It can be spent, stolen, or lost.
For the Baby Jesus – Who does this figurine represent? Did he stay a baby or grow up to be a man? Yes, he grew up to be a man and died on the cross to take the punishment for our sins.
For the heart – What is this? Yes, a heart that represents the love of God. If you believe in your heart that God died on the cross for your sins and that he was raised again back to life, then God gives you the gift of eternal life to be with him and others who loves him forever. No one can take that gift away from you. It is the only thing that can never be lost, stolen, broken, or taken away from you by anyone.
A rainbow is a promise. This rainbow appeared over the sea on Christmas day while we opened our gifts. May 2015 be a year where each one of you experiences the trustworthiness of God’s promises and feels his presence going with you.
Thankful for being here, in the midst of this Scottish adventure, with surprises and blessings waiting at every turn–if I open my eyes to see. Thankful for your thoughts, ideas, encouragement, dear readers and friends both near and far.
Like the enormous branch out back that fell and crushed my poor lilac bush. The ice storm came (that was before the arctic vortex and heaps of snow), and I guess that big old tree got a little too burdened down. Couldn’t take the stress. Couldn’t take the weight. So down it came.
The rest of our Christmas, well it was mostly the same. A little too much heaviness to bear.
Plenty of decorating and buying and wrapping and baking and carol playing and even praying beforehand, all meant to create the perfect day, but sometimes all the planning in the world will still leave you with a mess.
Sometimes you plan but get it all so wrong.
Sometimes you plan but it’s out of your control.
That ice again, lovely as it was, had it’s wicked way.
Treacherous driving conditions.
Night out with the girls for a chance to laugh and de-stress? Canceled.
Many thousands without heat or power.
Christmas Eve service at church? Canceled, too.
Mum hosting Christmas dinner? Nope. With two days to plan, it’s going to be me.
But there was more . . .
A mix-up of the name-drawing.
A gift for everyone under the tree? Well, not quite.
Keys locked in a running car.
Tired children put to bed on time? Think again.
A tummy bug moving slowly through the house till we all had our turn.
All of us there round the Christmas table, feeling right as rain? No, not that either.
Sometimes you plan but get it all so wrong.
Sometimes you plan but it’s out of your control.
Yet all this, all this we could have easily born with a nervous laugh and with making due. All this we could have born if only a frazzled mix of folks from different parts of the country, different parts of the globe, hadn’t all been tossed together, till from our botched arrangements surfaced pain, sadness, regret from weeks, months, years past.
Like my lilac bushes, it seems we, too, can be frail.
Tender.
Like the flowers. Like the grass.
Tender,
so that when love and fear come together,
like with family and with friends,
we feel an aching in our hearts
and a burden just too much to bear.
Too much to bear alone.
And it all seemed such a sham. The presents and the tree. The music. All the talk of joy and peace.
Because sometimes you plan but it’s out of your control.
And sometimes you plan, but there’s something deeper, something realer, that you missed.
All our shattered plans for Christmas or for life, they can really shake our souls, leave us wondering how to hope.
How to hope, or why.
Leave us wondering if the New Year will bring us more of just the same. And if you’re anything like me then you’re tempted to whisk out a sheet of paper and start making lists, ask yourself what went wrong, and start planning so the future will be better.
As if we could fix ourselves, fix our families, with a list.
The only thing is, sometimes you plan but get it all so wrong.
Sometimes you plan but it’s out of your control.
New Year’s resolutions? Yes, I’ve got them. Organized drawers, eating kale, and the like.
But this year what I’m planning is complete surrender.
Submission like I’ve never known.
All I have, all I am, all I dream, brought to the feet of the only One who will never get it wrong and never let me down.
Because what my family, what my world, what I am missing is more of Jesus.
And because it’s only is His will that we can ever truly be free.
I’m taking His list. Making it mine. Turning my life right upside down.
And I’m starting with the Word.
Because not only is the Word with God, but the Word IS God. (John 1:1).
And it’s living, and it’s active, and it knows me, too (Hebrews 4:12).
I’m going to see what I’ve been missing.
I’m going to learn to love and live
like Him.
This is January.
The first day of the rest of my life.
Join me as I discover.
You won’t look back.
Come to Me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest. Take My yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your soul.
